Cauterized People
by ALC Punk
Summary: Sam and Jack are forced to do things they wouldn't normally to stay alive in a slave camp. The aftermath isn't all that fun. Sex, violence, etc.
1. Choked Flowers

Disclaimer: Not mine. Set: Season 7, pre-erm... Evolution? Something like that. HOWEVER. It contains vague spoilers for the beginning of season 8/end of season 7.  
Rating: R. Sex, violence, dead people. Drugs and rock'n'roll sold separately. Notes: This really rambled all over the damn place. Bits were inspired by Nostalgia. A large portion is simply backlash due to all of the "Sam and Jack must have sex! to stay alive/together/in captivity" type fics. And Jara and Ryuu can also be thanked for patting me when I'd say, "Oops. Scotch tape isn't gonna fix that." 

_Cauterized People Chapter One: **Choked Flowers**_  
by ALC Punk!

It's been two weeks and three days since they were first sent here. Two weeks of trying to escape, of being thwarted at every turn. She is dirty and filthy, the grit and sweat molding themselves to her skin. All she wants, all she really wants right now, is a shower. Gallons of water pouring down her body, washing away this life.

Soap on a sponge making her clean again.

Instead, she has him. Lips and fingers and tongue and cock, sliding in and out. They have to do this, she knows. He has to prove every night that she is his. That he is hers. There are too many, here in the pits who would claim her - or claim him.

And so there is this. On some level, she thinks she hates him. He knows how to make her wet, to make her writhe and beg, to make her plead in a choked voice as he's thrusting in and out, hands and body keeping her pinned.

She feels smug, sometimes, knowing she does the same to him. But there's less chance for her to prove it.

In the end, they are simply biological processes and conditioned responses.

Sam likes to remember that she was the one who made the first move. That it was her brain which made the connection that first night. He had no clue why she was pushing him against the wall and kissing him. Even as around them, the men and women paired off, and those who weren't fought amongst themselves.

During the day, they don't talk about it. There are no words for what amounts to mutual rape in the interests of survival (and enjoying it means nothing, she tries to convince herself).

With the sunlight pounding down on them, they work as they're ordered. Tilling the soil, or moving rocks. And she can sense the naquadah in some of them and knows they're mining for their 'God'. Neither of them joke or mock him anymore, though.

Teal'c died the first time, flayed alive before their eyes, his own full of feverish misery as his body destroyed itself due to its lack of immune system. And she thinks it was her fault, for making an off-hand joke, but isn't sure. Too busy avoiding Daniel's eyes, because Daniel was in another wing of the cells, and Daniel didn't know why there were fingermarks on her arms and a hickey on the back of her neck.

Dust and mud now cover both.

She saw Daniel two days after that, head hanging as they dragged him onto the stake. She watched as he died over three days, body slowly crisping in the sunlight, and at night, she buried herself in Jack, clinging to the last of her humanity.

Mockery stays hidden in their heads now.

They don't talk much at all, really.

Sometimes, she wants to hate both of them. But she understands the concept: stay alive at all costs.

There are parts of her that have atrophied, that have disappeared beneath the veneer of filth. She likes to think parts of him have, as well. But she never asks.

It's none of her business how much humanity he has left, just as its none of his business that she has none.

At times, she tries to think of it as a science experiment.

But other times, she knows it isn't. When he's buried inside of her, his head turned into her neck as he comes.

Three months, and four days after they arrive, she knows something is wrong from the way her body reacts to movement. Her second day of losing breakfast, and she can't meet his eyes.

On the day after, two guards silently escort (drag) her away from him, to an examination room where cold fingers and hands glide along her skin. And she can sense the naquadah in the woman's symbiote and cringes away.

There are fresh bruises and scrapes by the time they're done with her.

He doesn't ask until a week later when she collapses.

"Don't." Is what she says when they arrive to drag her off. I need you alive, she doesn't say. She understands, though, what can happen. They can kill him, leave her single and vulnerable. And right now, she doesn't know if that would be worse.

Her rational mind says yes.

"What happened?" he asks her skin when they bed down that night. She's still shaking and sick, almost unable to think in coherent sentences much less explain.

There was so much blood.

"Miscarriage." Is all she manages.

He goes still behind her, and she knows he's begun to hate her even more.

Back to work the day after, and she fights not to lag. That night, he doesn't touch her until one of the others comes close enough, and then it's cold and perfunctory.

There aren't tears, she convinces herself.

Days melt into weeks. He either comes to terms with her statement, or forgets it. The sex returns to normal (as normal as fucking in a cave filled with other people can be). She begins to lose track, until she gets sick again. This time, she sees the desperation in his eyes.

This time, the bruises are buried under layers of dirt and grime, and she wants to be half-hysterical. She doesn't know why they needed to beat her after the tests. Cold fingers clawing down her skin, and the goa'uld had looked so pleased at the thought of another worker for the Gods.

She doesn't tell him.

The week passes. She stops being sick in the mornings. It doesn't happen like the last time.

They're watching her, this time, perhaps wondering if she will do something as she did last time. She can't fake a collapse to get into the medical unit again. It's night when it happens, not quite deep dark, and the dominance games are still playing out in the center when she steps into the ring. The woman facing her is brutal, dark hair and blue eyes, and fists and teeth.

By the time Sam is dragged off of her, there's no life in her.

They patch her up, not paying attention to the belly wound, barely noticing the knife wounds on her thigh and arm.

He notices.

And she carries the stark deadness in his eyes down into her dreams.

She awakens to blood and fever, wonders dimly if this is the last time or the first time, or if this is all a terrible dream she keeps having.

The dream shatters.

"Sam."

The voice can't be real. Not in this hell.

"Sam. Sam, it's ok. You're safe." Dad, her mind identifies.

Disbelief fills her, but there is something missing. Something vital. "Jack."

"He's here, too."

Delusion or not, she leaves the world behind again.

Voices, again. Talking about the place, about her condition. She hears them discussing her pregnancy. Or lack thereof.

"A miscarriage?" Her dad, voice filled with anger and disbelief.

"And cuts, bruises, those infected knife wounds you healed." He's talking. She hasn't really heard him talk for a long time, she thinks.

"You two were in pretty sad shape when we found you."

"Yeah."

Daniel and Teal'c, she wants to say, are nothing but dead bodies. At least they're alive.

"Hey, Sam." Her father's hand brushes her cheek.

She wants to flinch away from the first human contact she's had in months, but there's no energy to do it. Instead, she opens her eyes.

Beyond her father stands Jack. She can think of him by name, now. They're alive.

As if her waking is a signal, he moves, one hand reaching out to tangle in her hair, smoothing it back from her forehead.

He wouldn't be touching her if he knew. She wonders if its selective memory, of if he really is as stupid as he sometimes pretends to be. But right now, she's not going to quibble, even if she is digging herself in deeper.

"So..." Her father looks between them, then nods, "Selmak wants you both to know that you did the right thing. She, uh, explained about these sorts of places."

Her eyes look at him. And she wonders if her father understands exactly what he and his symbiote have just sanctioned. But she doesn't ask. "Dad."

"Good to see you, too, kiddo." His fingers graze her cheek again, and he smiles.

"Hey." The hand in her hair wriggles.

She looks up at him, meets those brown eyes. For a moment, they're cold, nothing staring back at her. Then the cold slides away, something that might almost be cheerful peeking out at her. How he does it, she doesn't know. And she also knows he shouldn't be touching her, but she's not going to object. Not right now when she needs him as a connection to her reality. "Jack."

"Carter."

A wealth of meaning in one word, and she wonders if you can tell someone you love them, need them, and hate them, all in one breath.

"You should sleep." Her father smiles.

"I've slept a lot," she replies carefully. It takes a slight struggle to move exhausted muscles and convince them to sit up. "Tell me where we are."

"Nearly at Earth," there's unforced joviality in her father. As if finding them and making them healthy is all that's needed. "You'll be safe in Doc Fraiser's eagle-eye care in about two hours."

"Oh joy."

She shoots Jack a glance, but doesn't say anything, just nods. "All right." A breath in, because she doesn't want to ask, "Daniel and Teal'c?"

"I'm sorry."

Her eyes close and she nods, "I knew. I just wanted to make sure it wasn't all simply a nightmare."

"We'll leave you to sleep."

"Uh, Jake-"

"Both of us."

She wants to object, but her father has him steered out the door before she can gather the right words. And then she decides it doesn't matter. She doesn't need him curled around her to sleep. The tremors start a little while later and don't stop until she's in the SGC infirmary, dosed to the gills while Janet's people take samples and measure responses.

There is no one there when she wakes the first time. She stares at the ceiling of the infirmary, and then looks at the empty bed next to hers. He was supposed to be there, she thinks. He was there, at one time.

Probably moved pending court-martial, which is black humor she didn't used to have.

She wants to blame it on him, but knows it was simply brought to the surface under his influence. Always the pessimist, Carter, he used to say.

Well, how's this for pessimism, sir, she thinks as she watches the lights haze out as sleep begins to reclaim her, I didn't think we would ever escape.

General Hammond is talking to Janet, the second time she wakes. They're trying to be quiet, but months spent listening for the smallest sound in the night which might require defense from have left her with acute paranoia.

"...don't know how long recovery will be."

"How is she, otherwise?"

"I really can't say, sir." Janet is lying. There's a wealth of things she can say, but they would violate patient-doctor confidentiality. At least until the patient is awake (and as long as she isn't a threat to the SGC).

"Let me know, then, doctor."

"I will, sir." When he's gone, Janet turns to her. "How much did you hear?"

"Very little."

"Well, I'm not going to sugar-coat it, Sam." There's something full of sadness in Janet's eyes. "Several blows to the torso and two infected knife wounds have caused your body to lose the baby rather strenuously."

"And?"

"I'm afraid that you can no longer have children, Sam."

One goal accomplished, she thinks as she stares up at the grey ceiling. "What else?"

"The infection has left your body in a weakened condition, you're malnourished, and you recently had five broken ribs and a fractured wrist."

So much blood, she thinks, but doesn't say. "Ah. They put me in a sarcophagus, I don't remember why." She can't work up the energy to wonder why she wasn't in it long enough for the evidence to fade.

"Ah. Sam, what happened?"

She stares at the ceiling, counting the tiny cracks. "We were captured, Daniel and Teal'c are dead, the Colonel and I shacked up to stay alive, and Dad rescued us."

"Sam."

Her head turns to meet the concerned gaze of a friend, and she knows she isn't worthy of it. A humorless smile touches her lips, "I'll let you read the report when I write it."

The doctor knows that isn't all. The diminutive woman has been her friend for nearly eight years now. There's a distinct tilt to her lips, a tightening of her stance that says she knows when you're holding back. But Sam isn't going to tell her what she's done. "Fine. I'm keeping you at least overnight until the tests all come up clear."

"You do that." There are fourteen cracks in the lower left quadrant of the ceiling.

Janet leaves, and Sam is left alone to her own thoughts. So she stops thinking.

Ten minutes later, she's shaking again. Vaguely, she wonders if this will happen forever, or if it would stop if he were here.

But he's not there, and he obviously isn't planning to be, ever again. The empty bed is testimony to that. Got out while the going is good, she thinks as her exhaustion drags her down again.

Two days later, they have a shrink talking to her. But she knows the games, now, has known them for years. Only now, she's playing. He thinks she is, but there's nothing he can do to prove it. He doesn't understand her, of course. It's hard to understand someone with very little humanity left inside of them.

One week later, and they have sex on Earth for the first time. It's short and not particularly sweet, she doesn't orgasm, and he doesn't care. But it's enough.

Routine is established. They've let her back into her lab. No talk of going off-world, but they need her brain (they've always needed her brain, whereas, he just needed her). So she has her lab, and her work, and sometimes he visits with his hands in his pockets (afraid of stealing something, and she can at least be honest about his kleptomania now). And leaves a note behind. In her pocket, under her microscope, on her desk. Some place she'll find it. And then they meet.

Two weeks into the routine, and he's just come (he made certain she did, only the first time did he forget), leaning into her, pushing her into the wall when the cops arrive.

Arrested for public indecency.

She thinks it's a good thing they hadn't caught them the night before when he'd had her bent forward until the packing crates left bruises on her ribs.

General Hammond isn't pleased (an understatement), he stalks around the room and they both sit silently behind the table. Finally, he whirls and slams his hands down, "I'm trying to understand, how two of my best officers are selling their careers down the river."

We're not the best, she wants to tell him. We're merely second-rate. Cardboard cut-outs pretending to be human. She doesn't say any of that. Just watches the General.

"Fine. Colonel, Major, I think a night cooling your heels in a civilian jail might give you both time to think things over. We'll talk more in the morning." As he leaves, Sam considers telling him that Earth civilian jails don't have a thing on any cell they've been in before.

They put her in with a drunk, a prostitute, and a woman claiming to be Saint Teresa. Sam curls onto the small cot and tries to sleep. She spends the night shaking instead, and wonders if he does it, too.

Morning dawns cold, and she doesn't say much as they release her on bail. A trial date is mentioned, but she doesn't record it (and she used to memorize facts and figures so easily). They send her home, and she knows she's not allowed back on base yet. Hammond sends an SF with official papers.

The courts-martial are two weeks later. Two weeks spent pretending she doesn't wake up every two hours, she doesn't shake, she doesn't crave. It's almost a relief.

"I'm being turned out to pasture," he hisses into her ear as he fucks her against the wall in her office.

"Ah." It's all she feels up to managing right now.

"You?"

That he's even somewhat interested almost wakes her up, but she pushes reality away. "They're shipping me off to Russia. I've been demoted to Captain." The irony is that she thinks she'll enjoy living in the middle of nowhere, teaching scientists the basics of stargate theory.

Days later, she's packed. Janet and Cassie helped, and she had to put on a mask, pretend to be normal. There was girl talk and chatter, and it was almost easy to slip into the role. Only finding pictures of Teal'c and Daniel sliced the hold into ribbons, and she's sure Janet knows she was in the bathroom for too long.

They make her promise to write them.


	2. No Sense of Wonder

_Cauterized People Chapter Two: **No Sense of Wonder**  
_by ALC Punk! 

Siberia is colder than she was expecting, the chill bites deep into her bones. She wonders if she'll ever sleep at night anymore.

Dr. Svetlana Markhov meets her at the door (so to speak). They spend hours chatting like old friends, and the facade never slips. Sam spends the night curled around her pillow wondering why the shadows get darker with the cold.

It takes time, but she begins to almost breathe again, here. The men and women listen, the jokes they exchange with each other and her never pass the boundaries they shouldn't. No one asks why she was sentenced there (no one cares, maybe). Some of them look at her with speculation, but it's less about her past and more about what they think her future can be. The men are easier to let down than the women. And only late at night, when she craves him, does it all fall to pieces.

Three weeks in, and she watches the blood in her shower. There is nothing frantic about watching herself bleed and she thinks there should be. Janet said this wouldn't happen again.

She spends an extra hour in bed the next morning, wrapped around her cramps.

Life goes on, is a morbid saying, but she thinks it anyway. Days begin to blur into one another. Nights are the same. Just more time spent curled and shaking.

She doesn't believe in redemption.

The mask slips once, Svetlana is talking about her sister's children, and the others are relating stories of laughter.

One of the younger women glances at her, and then reaches out a hand. "Captain?"

"It's nothing." A lie.

Concern in the young woman's gaze makes her feel stupid, but she ignores it. "If you're sure?"

"Yes." Stand, smile, "I think I'll go take a cat-nap."

General laughter sends her off down the corridor and she makes it to her quarters before the pain rips her to shreds and she finally begins to cry.

It's an international group, stationed here. They are learning about each other and the universe, and theories. So many theories. Some of them don't even believe her, despite the overwhelming evidence. "The laws of physics state clearly that -"

"Listen." Sam has to restrain herself from screaming. "Dr. Scully, I don't care what you think is real. I've been out there. The laws of physics as we know them can't account for everything I've seen and experienced."

Others chime in, Svetlana shouts them all down in the end, and Sam goes back to her quarters seething with frustration. Everything she's worked for, laughed at and disbelieved. She wonders what half of them would do when faced with the gravity waves from a black hole only seen because the stargate linked the two places. Or if any of them would have the sheer gall to blow up a sun.

Probably not.

With grim determination, she pushes onwards. Talking, involving herself (but never admitting that there's no connection) until she feels like they think she's part of the community.

She's fine until the next time she bleeds. This time, the cramps are far worse than anything she's faced (although the ash'rak comes close). Doubled over in the shower is about all she can manage, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. It takes time to get the strength to crawl out, time to find the tampons she'd brought out of habit.

By then, Svetlana is at her door, asking questions.

Everyone asks too many questions, she sometimes thinks. She tells her she's got a 24-hour bug and leaves it at that.

The next day she's riding high on the painkillers they'd given her for her injuries (she never took them, she hated getting fuzzy-headed). It's an inopportune time to not be all there, she realizes only later.

One of the girls starts talking about her boyfriend, another chimes in with hers, and Sam suddenly can't help herself. "Love is worthless."

Too late, she catches herself remembering, the cold, the heat, the way he felt when they were both so dirty she couldn't taste anything but the grit between her teeth. The memory leaves her pale and shaking.

Svetlana prudently doesn't touch her. "Sam?"

"I'm fine."

"Dear, you look awful. Go back to bed."

Bed. Without him. Without anything but the cold. A shiver runs up her spine. "No, no I think I need to stay out here."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Ten days pass, and Sam is fine. Fine, she reassures everyone she sees. Fine, say her fake smiles, and over-glazed eyes.

Fine, fine, fine, fine, fine.

Svetlana finally calls her on it. "What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing."

"It's not nothing, Sam. Tell me why you were demoted."

"Didn't the grapevine spread it fast enough?" Sam knows her voice is taunting, but doesn't back down. "Fraternizing with my commanding officer, conduct unbecoming... I'm sure the list goes on and on. I stopped counting when they told me I was guilty for trying to stay alive." Too much information.

"Staying alive?" The door closes as Svetlana steps further into the room. "Sam, please. Explain."

"What, they didn't tell you? Oh, wait," cruelty fills her, "you're not in the know. It being classified and all."

Svetlana shakes her head. "You're not deflecting me, Samantha Carter." There is nothing motherly in her tone, her arms cross over her chest. "Explain, now."

"Or what? You'll have me tossed out on my ear? You'd be doing me a service."

"Just tell me."

"Fine. You want to know? I'll tell you." Sudden anger lashes out, and her words are clipped and hard, "We were held in a work-camp that makes the Nazis look like puppies. Every night we had to fuck each other or risk rape - or worse. I got pregnant." The pain hits her then, and she stares at Svetlana, "Do you know how hard it is to raise a child in that kind of environment? It was so easy to injure myself, to pretend to collapse and have them take me to their surgery - more children mean more workforce, after all. So easy to wait until they'd left me alone and use what was their equivalent of a rusty wire coat-hangar to rupture the membranes. There was so much blood..."

Svetlana is staring at her, horror in her gaze. "My God..."

"That wasn't the end of it. They beat me for six hours straight, breaking bones, leaving marks that wouldn't have faded as blood loss slowly killed me. And then they threw me in a box, and returned me to work, whole. Except I wasn't whole, was I."

"Sam..."

"You can't say anything," the pain is ragged, "No one can."

"You don't have to continue."

"Oh, but I need to, Svetlana, Dr. Markhov. Isn't that what you said?" The viciousness in her tone might once have disturbed her. Now it just makes her angrier. "We continued to fuck - it wasn't sex. It wasn't 'making love'. The poets are wrong, you know. Love just kills you. I got pregnant again. Only, this time, I had to change how it ended. I picked a fight, and won. But not before she marked me. Destroyed me."

Silence falls. She's finished, now.

"In view..." Svetlana swallows, her eyes still wide with shock and pain. "In light of this information... I need..."

"Cat got your tongue?"

"No." Firming her stance, Svetlana shakes her head. "I need to speak with my superiors."

"You do that." Sam drops wearily to her bunk, curling up against the shakes that will come. "I'll be right here."

It takes a few days for them to come to a decision, and when they do, it's not what she expected.

"Washing out, are we?" His voice is as harsh, as taunting, as hers was to Svetlana.

It has her on her feet, facing him, shaking with something she refuses to believe in. "Well, after your sterling example, I figured it was just a matter of time."

"Stop it, Carter." The anger leaves him, suddenly.

She wants him angry with her. "Stop what?"

"This. Whatever it is. Repression, depression, just snap out of it."

"Oh, and it's so EASY, is it?" She doesn't remember hitting him, but her hand is stinging, her palm aching from where it connected with his face.

He rubs his jaw, "Maybe I deserved that."

Something breaks, something that was already broken and walled over, pulls open, and she staggers at the pain ripping through her. "I killed our children, Jack."

"I know." Raw pain in his voice, but he meets her eyes steadily, and there's no recrimination. "You did what you had to do."

"You don't understand. I planned their deaths, I executed them as surely as the jaffa put Daniel and Teal'c on a stake." No tears, because she isn't allowed tears. Not for the murderess of two innocents and two men who should have lived forever.

"No." His hands catch her shoulders, and he shakes her. "Carter, you had no choice. There was no hope of escaping that place. No way to get out. No way to raise children in that kind of environment."

"Why can't you hate me?"

"I did."

The words shatter the pain into splinters under her skin, and she gasps out, the sob ripping her apart. Hands drag her close, lips bury themselves in her hair as she cries for the children she can't ever have. The life she no longer leads. Everything and nothing, but most of all, her innocence.

He holds her for a long time, hands gently rubbing her back, lips moving, vague sounds murmured into her hair. He isn't telling her it will be all right.

Neither of them is allowed this luxury.

"When did you stop?" A hiccup makes her sneeze. She wipes her nose on her own sleeve, but doesn't let him go.

"Dr. Markhov made them find me."

It doesn't answer her question. "When, Jack?"

"You were killing yourself, too." His voice is a whisper.

"What?" Sam looks up at him, meets fathomless brown eyes. "I don't think I can do this."

"Do what?"

"This."

"Carter," This is a tone she recognizes, and she wants to laugh hysterically. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't marry me, Jack."

He coughed, "I was unaware -"

"Don't lie to me, either. I won't do you any good." She can't meet his eyes anymore.

"You're a difficult woman, Carter."

"Thank you." She has to let go now. Let go, or it will be the end of her, she thinks. But she thinks it will be the end of her no matter what, so she holds on.

"C'mon, you need some sleep."

"I've slept."

"Uh-huh." She doesn't object as he pushes her down and climbs in after her, doesn't say no when he pulls her against him and lays her head on his shoulder. "Go to sleep, Carter."

"Autocratic bastard."

"Yup."

But she doesn't leave the bed.

And it's the first night she sleeps through without shivering.

-


	3. Look Ma, No More Tears

_Cauterized People Chapter Three: **Look Ma, No More Tears**_**  
**by ALC Punk! 

He stays for a week, sleeping with her, giving her a strange respite.

"I hated you," she says into the darkness of the third night.

"I know."

They rarely speak about anything. Sam is simply strangely content to have him nearby. To know that she can touch him, can put her head on his shoulder, and he is there.

She notices on the fourth day that he looks less haggard then he did the first night, and wonders if he wasn't sleeping either.

Markhov tells them he can't stay.

"Why?"

"I'm afraid even the amount of time he's been here has compromised certain assurances," she looks uncomfortable and irritated.

Sam nods. "I resign."

"You can't."

"I can."

The walk back to her small (now shared) room makes her wonder where her serenity came from.

It doesn't last (she never expected it to). He is there on the seventh morning, and then not at lunch. It takes her until dinnertime to decide this is wrong.

Svetlana looks up when she enters her office, "Sam?"

"Where is he?"

"I'm sorry, Sam. He left this morning."

"Bullshit." Her hand slams down on the desk. "He wouldn't have left without saying goodbye."

"Can you be so sure?"

No. "Yes." The doubt boils to the surface, but she can't let it shake her.

Svetlana stands, "Look, Sam, I'm beginning to wonder if maybe you don't need some help. Counseling, or -"

It takes less time to disable her than it would a jaffa, Sam notes as she twists the doctor's arm behind her back and yanks back on her hair. "Where. Is. He?"

"Let me go."

Fear. An emotion she knows well. She twists harder, "Tell me now and I might let you live after I break your arm." This isn't her, she wants to yell. This isn't Sam Carter inside this body threatening an innocent woman.

But she knows it is.

"I don't know." Fear makes Svetlana Markhov's voice high-pitched. "I'm telling you the truth." Her accent gets deeper, too.

"Where would they take him?"

"There are - ancient cell blocks in the deserted part of the complex."

"Ah." Sam releases her hair and shoves her towards the office chair, then lets her go. "Sit."

"Sam -"

"Sit."

Markhov sits, her eyes dark with terror, "Please. Sam, I'm sorry, I didn't..."

"Sorry means nothing." The words are bitten off like dead cells. Phone cord provides the perfect restraint, and Sam soon has her attached to the chair, "You're not going to be able to warn your little friends."

A hair scrunchy and more phone cord provide the only means to a gag, and then Sam searches the desk drawers. There's no weapon, but she does remove the set of keys, hefting them. "Do any of these belong to the deserted area?"

Svetlana nods.

"Good." Sam leans over and smacks her forehead with a kiss. "Don't go anywhere, Markhov."

It was instinct that made her learn the halls of the base the first few weeks. She knows where to go and arrives at the small monitoring station to greet the one man on duty. He goes down without a sound, and Sam leaves him tied in a corner. The cameras only cover the lived-in portions, but it's enough to note where the guards are.

And that the armory isn't guarded.

Fools.

She takes only enough time to ensure that the computer virus she hastily programmed will work, and then leaves. Slinking through corridors, she wonders if Jack would be amused that the things he taught her are what she's using now. The planning, the tactics - some were drilled in at the Academy. The sheer courage and off-the-wall plans were always his.

Five men are removed from their posts as she skulks her way down to where they're holding Jack.

Most of them will wake up with only nasty headaches.

Finally, she's there, adrenaline pumping, mind clear for the first time in what feels like years. This is what she's good at, she thinks as she slams her elbow into the first guard, twisting and spinning, she takes them both on, leaving them bruised and bloody, unconscious at her feet. The keys are in the second one's pocket, and she opens the door with vague trepidation for what she'll find.

"Hey."

"Hey."

The knife in her hand cuts the ropes and wire tying him to the chair. She doesn't have time to stop and catalogue his injuries, but she's aware one eye is swollen shut and there's blood on his lips. When he stands, she knows they did something to his legs, too.

"Can you walk?"

"Try and stop me."

She has to shoot two men before reaching her planned destination. She discovers little regret in their injuries, knowing they will probably have medical care before Jack does. "It's going to be cold," she warns him as they climb onboard the snowmobile.

It is.

He clings to her waist, burying his face in the side of her neck as they fly across the moonlit slopes. Halfway there, he asks where they're going. She doesn't risk shouting to attract attention.

The village isn't much larger than the complex they just left. She stops at the rail station and studies the times of the trains. One went through not that long before they got there, heading for Moscow. Perfect, she thinks.

Jack is shivering when she climbs back on. "Carter?"

"A little longer." She looks at him and can't smile. "And then we can rest."

Figuratively.

It takes nearly an hour to catch up with the lumbering locomotive, and two minutes of riding along its length to find a box car of the right type. Sam points at the ladder, "Can you make it?"

His answer is to climb up, reach out, and transfer from the snowmobile to the train. The sled skids slightly at the shift in weight, and she has her hands full for a moment.

When she looks up, he's got the door open and is looking at her calmly.

Stepping on the accelerator, she sends the snowmobile two cars up. She has just enough time to get onto the seat and prepare herself as the train continues past. The leap is shorter than she expects, and his arms and hands drag her onto him as they tumble backwards into the waiting darkness.

They stay like that for a time, simply holding each other and feeling strangely relieved to be what is almost safe.

Finally, she moves, pulling him to the door so she can look at his injuries in the moonlight. Unfortunately, there's very little she can do for him without antiseptics and bandages. Grimly, she wonders if Markhov now understands just why you don't cross people.

Sam sets the alarm on her watch and they curl into a corner, sharing body heat as the night passes.

He wakes her when the alarm starts. "Carter, where are we going?"

"To a friend."

He blinks. "In Russia?"

"Yes." The words are simple, but she doesn't want to explain yet. Instead she runs her hands down his legs, checking for hot spots or breaks. There are none although he hisses at her touch on his shins. "I'm sorry, Jack, but we're going to have to jump soon."

"Great. I'm just peachy, Carter. Reminds me of Antarctica, actually."

She laughs, just a little. It's not hysterical, but she wonders if it could be.

He catches her hand. "C'mon, Mata Hari."

Starlight is the only light they have as they stare out at the fields. Sam eyes the slight glow in the distance, and nods. "Remember to roll, Jack."

"I've been doing this since before you were born, grasshopper."

"Jumping out of trains?"

"Oh, yeah."

The landing is harder than she'd thought it would be, and she strains her shoulder. Jack pulls her up. "Where to?"

"Towards the light, Jack," she half-smiles.

He snags an arm around her waist, and they walk through the field, occasionally stumbling, but mainly staying upright.

The sun barely touches the bottom of the horizon when they walk into the edge of the town. Jack studies it like a predator waiting for something to try killing it. Sam simply leads the way through myriad streets until they come to a small, respectable-looking house. She knocks twice with no answer.

"Maybe they're still asleep, Carter."

"Sergei always was a lazy bastard." Her next knock is with a closed fist, her voice raised, as she yells. "Sergei Romanov! Get your ass out of bed this instant!"

Movement from inside, and the door is suddenly dragged open by a man about Sam's age with shaggy brown hair and dark eyes. "Samantha?" He seems startled to see her, his quick glance taking in both her and Jack, he steps back. "Come in, come in, you look horrible. And famished."

"Well -" Sam began.

"Later," he raises his voice, "Natalia! Add eggs to breakfast, we have visitors in need of sustenance!"

An amused squawk is heard from the kitchen and a tall, lean woman stalks into the room, her short black hair bouncing, "Now, Sergei, I - Oh." She studies her sudden guests. "I see. Breakfast for four it is."

"Sergei," Sam tries again.

"No." He touches her cheek, notes the way she flinches, and shoots a glance at the man standing so silently behind her. "You will eat breakfast, first."

"Yes, Sergei." She relents. "This is Jack."

"Howdy."

"You are both welcome, now come, you look like you haven't washed your hands in days, and Natalia is very particular about dirty nails at her table."

He hustles them to the bathroom, pointing out soap and towels, then bustles off. Sam stands there for a moment, shaking with silent laughter before glancing at Jack. "I met him during the Gulf War."

"Ah." Jack gestures, "After you."

It takes them a few minutes. Sam finds bruises she didn't know she had under the dirt covering her face. Jack's are now a mottled blue-purple-black. They'll look really spectacular in a few days, she thinks with a wince.

"Don't say it, Sam."

The use of her first name makes her blink at him, "What?"

"It isn't your fault. And you got me out. So stop it."

"Fine." Another thing they won't ever agree on, she thinks dully as she dries her hands and turns to find Natalia watching them. "Hi."

She studies them for a moment longer, then tilts her head, her eyes dark with enigma. "Breakfast is ready."

They eat, chattering amiably. Sam finally gets Jack and Sergei discussing fish. They argue almost cheerfully about lures and sizes, the correct hooks and the zen of the art. Natalia watches them both with an amused eyes. She watches Sam, too.

Finally, they're done, and Sam knows it's time. "Sergei, I... We need your help."

"Anything." His face turns grave, "You saved my life more times than I care to count, I owe you debts unpayable."

She flushes, "Not that much, just. Could we borrow a little money? And," she grimaces, "some clothing?"

"Yes."

"Thank you."

He doesn't ask what the trouble is, he never presses. Natalia simply watches all with her enigmatic eyes. By the time afternoon rolls around they're ready to go. Sergei has given them enough money to see them through several days. Sam hasn't asked, but she has the feeling Jack can find them the right places to get identification and passage out of a country that may want them dead.

They reach Moscow with little trouble, and Jack does, indeed, know all the places to go. Within a day they're renamed and passported, ready to leave one country for another.

In a back alley they come across a man raping a girl, and Sam finds herself attacking him, kicking and punching as she drags him away from the victim.

Men like him built the camp they were held in. Men like him coated her skin in dust and pain.

It feels clean to hit the man, to feel her punch pulverize his nose and eventually break his jaw. There's something so cleansing about mathematically calculating the precise angles needed. Down to the second, she considers how long it will take for him to die as her knuckles begin to ache.

"Carter!"

Roughly jerked away, she struggles against Jack, pulls towards the body at their feet.

He shakes her, "You can't kill him, Sam."

"But..." Reality comes back into sharp focus. The girl ran away, she notices as she sags against him. "Let's go."

They stay the night in a cheap motel, and leave Moscow in the morning.

Several days of travel finds them in Florida, a deserted stretch of beach as far as the eye can see. There's a small cottage and an inlet where Jack can fish. It takes less than a week to acquire a tan and an appreciation for fish.

They still sleep tangled together, but not for sex.

Jack's bruises fade, and she gets used to seeing him tanned and wind-whipped, the salt spray dancing nearby.

She knows civilization isn't that far away, but she prefers here, were they're the only two people in the world.

"Daniel would have been bored here." The observation is made one day with her feet buried in the sand and Jack's head pillowed on her stomach. "Teal'c might have liked it, though. All the sun and sand. No responsibilities."

"He would have missed Rya'c." Is Jack's lazy reply. "And Danny could have brought his books along and been content."

Later, he kisses her. It's the first kiss since their last fuck at the SGC, and she clings to him, dragging him onto her as her body reacts, demanding sex. She likes to think she didn't used to be this easy. His hand under her shirt makes her gasp, and then there is no shirt. It's just her and sand.

He stops, suddenly, "This... Carter, I don't want to push."

"It's okay." Her hands tangle into his hair and she drags his mouth to hers, pushing up against him.

He complies, pushing back, sliding between her legs, one arm circling her waist. Pressing her into the sand.

The grit on her back brings back flashes of memory, of dirt coating her skin, and she abruptly pushes at him. "I want to be on top."

He rolls them, and she stares down at him, feeling the sand under her knees and the sun hot on her back. She settles against him, contemplative as a light breeze dances over her skin. This is different. This isn't desperation.

"Are you sure?" His tone is concerned, his hands still on her hips.

"Yes." She bends over and finds herself mis-directed, urged upwards. Her entire body shudders as his mouth closes on a nipple.

It's different, this time. There's something careful about the way he handles her. Like she'll shatter in an instant. She thinks he might be right just before his fingers make her orgasm, and she falls down into a dark place and remembers blood.

Pooling at her feet, draining her until she is so helpless she can just lay there.

"Carter." His hands on her face draw her back to reality, and she stares down at him. "You're safe. We're safe."

"It doesn't matter." She shifts, finding him with one hand and then moving, sliding down onto him, her breath catching a little as this sensation echoes a hundred previous encounters.

He gasps as she rides him quickly, dragging his orgasm faster than she knows he wanted it. He stares at her as she sits above him, hands flat on his chest. "Carter..."

"No." Her fingers touch his lips. "I need you. I need this. All of it. I don't have a clue about tomorrow, Jack, but I know about today."

He pulls her down against him and simply holds her, face turned into hers.

The sex continues; he's still careful, gentle. Sometimes she wants to scream at him, but she understands that this is the only way it works for them, now. Sometimes, she doesn't come. Sometimes, neither does he.

Oddly, her cramps abate, though her monthly cycles continue. She thinks about getting checked out, but knows that might endanger their peace.

When four months have passed, she begins to think maybe they are safe.

Weekly routines have set in. He shops at the local market for most of their food. Or they fish. Meals are simple. And the sand and sea keep them company. It's a cliche, of course. Both of them know it. It's why sometimes he holds her extra-tight, or she buries her head in his shoulder.


	4. Caught Up

_Cauterized People Chapter Four: **Caught Up**_  
by ALC Punk! 

Five months, and they awake to a knock at the door.

The bald head is familiar, piercing blue eyes stare at them as they look blearily back. "Thank god." The words sound strange, his eyes close. "The Russians..." But he stops and shakes his head. "Never mind. You're alive."

"Yes." She's forgotten how to talk to other people, she thinks.

"Jack, Sam." Hammond looks between the two of them. "The SGC needs you back."

They don't have to look at each other, they simply step onto the porch and gesture towards the steps. "Have a seat, General," Jack's voice is almost humorless.

When settled, he looks at them. "According to the Russians, you assaulted several of their people, then fled to sell information on the black market or to the highest bidder. There was an extensive search for you for the first two months but when nothing came of it..."

"They're lying, General." Jack shifts. "I got dragged over for some reason, then they locked me up and beat me. Carter broke me out."

"Dr. Markhov was found tied to her chair."

"Yes." Sam feels somewhat distant from events. "I needed her keys."

"Well, the situation has escalated to the point that the Russians are threatening to expose the stargate program."

"Then let them."

She isn't surprised by Jack's words.

Hammond is. "Jack, you know -"

"Oh, come on, General. I know what? That the general populace of the world is imbecilic? Yes. Yes it is."

"Same old Jack," the man says softly.

Wrapping her hand around Jack's, Sam shrugs, "I'm not sure the world would care, sir. Aren't there still politicians and sex scandals and tv?"

"It's good to see you both looking well." There's a wealth of sadness in his eyes, and he shifts gears. "Unfortunately, I didn't come to see you about the escalating international crisis. Thor contacted us. The Asgard need the both of you, but couldn't send a ship to retrieve you."

"Did they say why?"

"No. All we know is that it was urgent two months ago. Now..."

The trail-off makes them both stiffen, and then Sam nods. "Where do we go?"

Just like that, they're dragged back into the thick of things. She wants to be sickened about it, but can't work up the energy.

Half a day later, they're arriving at a place she never thought she'd see again. The mountain looks the same, only she's changed. And Jack. The guard at the gate is new and doesn't recognize them, but Lieutenant Fredericks still mans the check-in point between elevators, and his eyes widen when he notices the way they don't let go of each other.

It would take courage to let his hand go, and so she stores that for later and just hangs on to him.

Twenty floors, twenty-five, twenty-seven, and they're walking down corridors she used to know well. Like the back of Jack's hand, or the way he shifts at exactly four after three every night. The briefing room is still the same.

Her father's there. He studies them for a moment, then reaches out to touch her.

She holds still, ignoring the irrational urge to move away. "Hey."

"Sam."

Then she's wrapped in his arms, not crying, but almost smiling. Jack wraps his arms around both of them. It's weird, but her dad doesn't object.

Neither does she.

"So." His voice is husky as he pulls away from them. "You two been staying busy? Obviously healthy, you both look like you've been doing nothing but fishing."

Jack shrugs, "I've been trying for years, Dad. She finally said yes."

"Thank you for waiting," Hammond bustles in, several men in fatigues behind him. "This is Colonel Reynolds and the current SG-1. Captain Brandy McIntyre, Lieutenant Theo Graham, and Dr. Wade Wilson. You will be accompanying them to the destination specified by the Asgard."

"You've been very cagey, General." His voice isn't suspicious, but Sam tenses nonetheless. She already knows where all the exits are. "What's really going on?"

"Jack, all we know is that the Asgard requested your assistance."

"Begging your pardon, sir," Reynolds interjects. "But we do think it might be the Replicators."

A shiver runs up her spine.

"That's unconfirmed conjecture, Colonel." Hammond sounds almost irritated.

"Well, give us our stuff, let's go. Carter and I need to be back home in time for tea, y'know."

I don't want to go. But she doesn't say it.

Like old times, they suit up. She feels constricted by the vest and pants and boots. As if this isn't her anymore (and it isn't). Jack almost looks uncomfortable. Jacob takes them to the infirmary for pre-mission checks, and Janet works on them in silence.

Until Sam has had enough. "I couldn't stay."

"You could have tried."

"No." Her hands catch at Janet, and she turns her. "I lost too much, Janet."

"And what about us, Sam?"

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah." Janet steps away. "You're both ready to go."

"Thanks, Doc." His voice isn't thankful.

"Get the hell out of my infirmary."

She's almost shaking when they reach the gateroom. A combination of terror and sadness and the sudden remembrance of needing this place so much.

The trip through the gate is as she remembers it. Cold and strange, molecules dissolving and recombining. She staggers against Jack as they exit, and he keeps his arm around her as they walk after SG-1.

Curiously, it doesn't hurt that SG-1 isn't her anymore. Isn't them. It's right for the name to be passed on. For others to have the chance at glory.

After several minutes of walking, the structure they're aiming for is close enough to see. It resembles every other tomb or ruin she's seen since Daniel started dragging SG-1 on all of his archeological expeditions. Not that she'd minded at the time.

Dr. Wilson is walking next to her, and he suddenly speaks, "We came here once or twice, but we're not really sure what to do. This building is a fascinating marvel, and -"

"Thanks, Doc. But I'm not interested in a history lecture."

"Sorry, ma'am."

He seems incredibly young, but she doesn't try to placate him. "I just want to get this over with."

"Ah." With a sidelong look at her, he drops back to walk next to McIntyre, and they begin talking.

Jack glances at her. "Little short there."

"I told him the truth." A shiver goes down her spine. "I want to go home."

"Yeah." His hand tangles with hers, and they continue in silence until they're standing underneath the overhang of the 'porch' outside the structure.

Reynolds gestures, "This is what we think the Asgard wanted you for."

The device is familiar. Sam breathes in, then out, "It's one of the Ancients' library devices."

Jack stares at it. "The Asgard sent us here?"

"Apparently." Reynolds gestures. "So. Who gets head-shrunk?"

"Oh, no," Jack shakes his head. "Been there, done that, not doing it again. Ever."

"I will." Surprise fills her. Had she really said that? "I mean, why not?"

"Carter -"

They simply look at each other. "I think I have to, Jack."

"Well, whoever is going to do it, can we get it over with?" Reynolds shifts on his feet. "This place gives me the creeps."

Sam walks towards the device and reaches out a hand, running it over the raised surface. Fragments of memory surface: the last device, the way it reached out and grabbed Jack, holding him tightly. There is no reaction from this one.

"Huh. Doesn't like you, Carter." Jack sounds almost amused.

She can feel his breath on her neck. "Jack -"

It happens in a blur, it feels like someone's shoved her head into a pot of boiling water, light pours behind her eyes. And she can feel Jack, can sense his own pain as the device grabs them both and downloads its contents directly into their cerebral cortexes.

Then she's staggering back, sagging bonelessly. Wilson and McIntyre catch them and they stare at each other.

Jack finds his voice first. "Ow."

It's irony, she thinks, as a staff-blast kills Colonel Reynolds. The man looks comically surprised as he crumples to the ground. Wilson takes the next hit, and then the other two are moving, diving for cover as Sam and Jack do the same. Not that it helps. In a matter of minutes, their position is over-run. The last thing she sees before a staff weapon burns through her chest is Jack falling.

Sam Carter wakes up cold.

A breeze crosses her skin, and she shivers, trying to orient herself. Seconds later, pain blossoms down her side. Her soft whimper echoes.

Forcing her eyes open, she finds a man standing before her, his lips smirking slightly. "So. You are awake." He's toying with a knife, kin to the one buried in her side. She notices more about her surroundings. Dun brown walls, and something metallic at her back. She thinks she should be falling, since her arms and legs are spread, but nothing is chaining her to the wall.

Ba'al. It has to be Ba'al with his gravity generators and sadistic need to torture.

"Tell me what you've learned from the depository."

She licks her lips, strangely calm. "Bite me."

Later, when she's covered in knife wounds and her blood is coating the floor, she reminds herself that he would never believe her anyway. She doesn't know what's she's learned. There is - something - there. But she can't touch it.

It took days for Jack, she thinks, but doesn't say.

A final knife slides into her heart and she chokes on her own blood.

At least this is better than grit on her skin.

The next time she awakens, she's alone. It's a small cell, barely wide enough to pace, so she curls in the corner and stares blankly at the white light. She thinks this is the fourth time she's come back from being dead at Ba'al's hand, but isn't certain.

He keeps asking questions she can't answer, although the memory of the answers is just out of reach like a shadow on the wind.

Jaffa appear, and she waits, vaguely remembering that the floor changes. She thinks the fuzziness is left over from being dead, but doesn't care to question it. They drag her upright as the floor shifts and she falls against the force field covering the entrance. "Move."

The other one laughs softly.

She wonders why they're here, now. It feels too soon since her last visit with Ba'al. But she doesn't ask.

They're nearly to the throne room when she hears the strangled gurgle.

Jack. Ba'al has Jack in there.

Her mind clears.

The jaffa on her right only realizes something's wrong with the prisoner they didn't bother holding onto when her hands dive into his pouch and she twists and breaks the symbiote. The poisonous blood spills out, mixing with his. And all he can feel is pain.

His staff weapon makes a satisfying thunk as it slams into the other guard's head. She smashes the symbiote in the pouch with the butt end, feeling it give.

All in all, the attack took mere seconds, she decides as she pants, adrenaline clearing more. Her body aches with injuries it should still have that no longer exist. So much blood... But she shoves the thought away and moves towards the door, listening for a sign that the attack was heard.

"Just tell me, O'Neill. And it will be so much simpler." Ba'al is gloating. "Of course, if yuo wish not to, I can have my jaffa bring your lover to me. And we will find out how much she knows."

"No."

Neither of them notice her as she slips in, moving towards the dais. At the last second, Ba'al senses the remnants of the symbiote within her and he starts to turn. But he's far too late.

The end of the staff weapon glows against the back of his neck. "Let him go."

"And if I don't?"

She smiles, "I'll kill you."

Ba'al chuckles, "O'Neill, you have chosen wisely for a mate. Unlike the other, this one is full of fire and spirit."

"You have ten seconds. And don't think I can't fire before you wrap yourself in a personal shield."

"Very well." A combination of symbols are pressed on his console.

"Free?" She doesn't take her steady gaze from the false God before her.

"Free." Jack's voice is hoarse.

"Good."

Three staff blasts in rapid succession are more than enough to burn through the bone and tissues. Ba'al's head hits the floor with a wet thump as his body sways, then topples, the cauterized burns on his neck and now-dead symbiote still smoking.

Now she turns to look at Jack. She resisted until now, knowing it might distract her. He looks horrible, and she moves to take his arm, leading him by memory to the sarcophagus. "Get in."

"No."

"Do it or I'll render you unconscious, Jack."

A dry laugh and he complies, crawling in.

She watches it close and then begins investigating the chamber for more weapons. There's a console on one wall panel and she works her way through the symbols until she remembers, vaguely, how to call up a schematic of the complex. Daniel had once taught her to read technical goa'uld symbols. These are barely different.

The sarcophagus grinds open, and Jack slowly sits up. "I hate this thing."

"Yeah." She half-smiles. "Me, too."

"Any trouble?" He asks as she helps him out then hands him the staff weapon and retrieves the hand device Ba'al was wearing.

It slips on easily, and she looks at it a moment, then shakes her head. "No. And I think we're the only ones he brought here."

"Know how we get out?"

"Yep." She turns and types something on the console, then sets her hand in the center and pushes, feeling the energy flow from herself into the machine. "Let's go."

"What'd you do?" He asks as they exit the room, both on alert.

"Set the self-destruct."

"Ah."

A voice in goa'uld begins calling out. She half-smiles, "We have about three minutes."

"Let's go, then."

By the time they reach the surface, they've killed several more jaffa. It's raining, the drops cold and large enough that by the time they reach the gate they're both soaked.

A staff blast impacts the muddy ground, and they duck behind the DHD and fire back.

"Where to?" She calls over the sound of battle.

Jack considers, "Cimmeria. We need to talk to Thor."

"Right. Cover me!"

As one they stand, Jack firing continuously at the approaching jaffa. Sam dials, her palms stinging with the force of her actions on the console. The gate coalesces, and she turns, and swings her hand, smashing outwards with the force suddenly at her fingertips. The crystal in the hand device glows, and three of the jaffa are tossed back.

Jack takes out two more, and then they run.

The trip through the gate is cold, and she shakes as they step off the platform on the other side. A moment later, two jaffa spill out. Jack shoots them before Thor's Hammer has a chance to activate.

"Welcome, travelers."

Sam sags slightly, feeling the adrenaline wash away. Her bones ache with the exhaustion. Between them, Jack and their guide get them to Gairwyn's. Sam doesn't notice most of the journey, her vision greying in and out.

"I'm worried about her."

He shouldn't be, but she doesn't have the energy to tell him she's just tired. So very tired.


	5. Held Together by Ships, Strings, and Cei...

_Cauterized People Chapter Five: **Held Together by Ships, Strings, and Ceiling Wax**_  
by ALC Punk! 

Waking to warmth is a different feeling. There's no scent of the sea, and she knows instinctively she is not home. Jack isn't curled at her back, either, and she slowly identifies her surroundings as she sits. Cimmeria. A thought bubbles across her mind, too quick to catch, and she wonders if it was a bad one.

"You're awake."

She turns and smiles, "Gairwyn."

"Major Carter, 'tis good to see the friends of Midgard again."

"It's not Major anymore. Just Sam."

"How is this so?"

Sam shakes her head and stands, "I should get dressed. Jack and I need to get... We need to speak with Thor, actually."

"Yes. So he has said." Gairwyn hands her folded cloth. "I'm afraid your own attire is still drying from the washing we gave it."

The skirt and shift are simple, but they're clean and dry. Sam decides she doesn't care who undressed her, and wanders out into the main room. "So, what's the plan?"

Jack looks at her, and half-smiles, "We go to Thor's Hall. Have a chat with my good buddy, and get this crap taken out of our brains before it does permanent damage." He stands and reaches out, brushing his hand through her hair. "You ok?"

Moving closer, she leans against him. "Yeah. Just tired."

His arm slides around her, and he tucks her head under his chin with a soft sigh.

"You're both weary." Gairwyn observes softly.

"And miles to go before we sleep." Jack replies.

"Where are my boots?" Time to go, to get this over with and then go home. Where they could sleep for a week.

It takes a little over an hour to get to the monument that contains the transport device to Thor's Hall. The two of them follow protocol and are whisked away.

"Welcome to the Hall of Thor's Might."

The voice echoes in her brain, and she remembers the last time she was there.

"Hey, Thor, buddy," Jack half-waves to the illusory construct. "It's Jack O'Neill. You guys called?"

For a moment, the construct remains, then it fades, and the body of an Asgard appears in its place. "So you have come."

"Yeah. Look," Jack waves a hand, "We went to the place, and now we've both gotten it in our heads, and it'd be nice if you'd help remove it."

"Indeed."

"Uh, please?" Sam looks at the image, then at Jack, "That's not Thor."

"I am Thor's replacement, Asa. I am afraid he mis-informed your species. The Asgard require no assistance, and we cannot help you. Good day." The hologram winks out.

"Well... Fuck." Jack's voice is thick with derision. "So, what, we're supposed to die now?"

"Jack."

"No." He stalks away from her and kicks at the wall. "I will not be calm, Carter."

"Jack." Something slithers across her brain, and she moves to touch the wall where the projection came from. "How long do you think Ba'al had us?"

"Long enough."

"I can..."

"Ah, Carter," he runs a hand over his face. "My frond hurts, can we talk about this tomorrow?"

"There." Her fingers find the knob and she twists, the communication device sliding open. Another prod, and she hesitates, "This is Samantha Carter, attempting to contact Thor. Please come in, Thor."

Interference splashes out of the speaker, then it clears. "This is Heimdahl. Commander Thor is currently occupied. How may I assist you, Samantha Carter?"

"Uh, hi, Heimdahl. Look, Jack O'Neill and I have been given the memories from one of the Ancients' databases. Is it possible you could remove them?" She feels almost hesitant asking, considering Asa's response.

"Indeed, Samantha Carter, that is the reason Thor wished for you to go to the planet." There's a flash, and Sam finds herself standing on the bridge of an Asgard ship, Jack at her side. Heimdahl nods to them from his chair, "We apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused, but the Asgard are incapable of handling the library devices anymore, and we needed your assistance."

"That's all well and good," Sam acknowledges, glancing at Jack. "But why did you need the information?"

"The Replicators have freed themselves from their prison. We hope to find a solution among the information the Ancients acquired." Heimdahl blinks at them, "How is it you both have this knowledge?"

"Ah, well..."

"I was standin' behind Carter and it caught us both," Jack supplies. "So. Removal?"

"There is a complication."

"Oh?"

"If you absorb the knowledge, you may be able to discover a solution faster than our computers will sort one out." The Asgard looks almost uncomfortable. "It was Thor's intention to request that you wait for removal until such time as you could discover this solution."

"Thor's intention..." Something about the inflection bothers Sam. "Where is Thor?"

"I am afraid Thor was one of those lost in a recent upheaval among the Asgard High Council."

Jack snorts, "The Asgard had a coup?"

"Indeed, Colonel O'Neill."

"And you want us to wait until the information has permeated our brain tissues before removing it."

"Yes."

"How bad is the war going?"

"Very. The Asgard are nearly wiped-out. And I fear that once we are no longer a threat the Replicators will turn to another galaxy and begin again."

She looks at Jack, then slowly nods. "Very well."

"Yeah..." He nods. "Fine. But, look, can we sleep through it? Can you put us in some sort of stasis, or do we have to stay awake?"

"I am afraid you must be awake, any stasis field would prolong the time it took, and therefore would render it pointless, as I believe the Replicators would have succeeded by then."

"Right. Fine." He sighs. "Carter?"

"Jack?"

"The things you talk me into..."

She half-smiles, "Heimdahl, can we have a place to sleep, please?"

"I have prepared quarters for each of you."

"We only need one room."

The Asgard scientist blinks again. "Very well. This is an unexpected, but not entirely disconcerting development."

"Er, thanks. I think."

The room is as simple as Gairwyn's home, and they move without speaking to the bed. Her boots hit the floor before Jack's, and Sam claims the left side of the bed, curling up and facing him. "Are you really ok with this?"

"Yeah." He flops, absently reaching for her hand. "We should contact the SGC."

"Can it wait?" She tugs him closer and begins to relax against his side. "I'm so tired."

"It can wait."

-

She should have remembered that life is never this simple.

"Hello, Samantha." The voice is cold, metallic, it digs into her skin and sends fear down her spine. "You left me." He's childish and whining.

"I don't..."

Pain. Pain, images she shouldn't know, shouldn't see. Ba'al again, always Ba'al. "I don't..."

"You betrayed me, Sam. How's it feel?"

Equations full of imaginary numbers explode across her brain, and she suddenly gets Narim and the Tollan, and why they think of the Tau'ri as idiotic children. "Stop."

"Why?"

She slumps to the ground, breathing quickly, "I didn't want to. But the Colonel was right." She looks up at him, finally able to see his face. Fifth. "If we had taken you with us, how long before you decided to make another of your kind? How long before there were accidents, and then Replicators taking over our galaxy?"

"You speak in suppositions." He sneers.

"I speak in possibilities. Ones you know are true!"

"No. You're lying."

She closes her eyes, thinking. "Please let me rest. I'm so tired."

"Aww." His hand caresses her hair, and she bites back a scream as the fingers dig through her skull. "Poor Sammie Carter, lost to the universe, all for love of a man."

Words she doesn't know stream across her brain, then disappear, and she shivers. "Please."

He stiffens, "I must attend to other things. Don't go anywhere."

Then he's gone, and she's alone in the cold, cold room. Her knees drawn up to her chest, she shivers as more words and equations and concepts begin slithering across her brain. "Please hurry, Jack."

-

Sam doesn't remember everything the Replicator has done to her. Unlike dirt on her skin and stale sweat on her tongue, there is no permanence to the twists his mind spins around hers. She knows that Jack is real. He is too real for the illusions Fifth tries to convince her are reality. It's the only thing she can cling to, even while she slowly loses her grip on the way the world is supposed to work.

(Naive Earth simplicity)

There is no surprise when Fifth suddenly looks worried, when he suddenly tries to get her to believe that Jack is dead.

She is spilling out words she doesn't really understand even as the ship disintegrates around her, and she's suddenly spinning in space.

It's cold.

Jack, she thinks, as the cold sucks the life from her. I didn't want it to end this way.


	6. Never Believe Everything You Hear

_Cauterized People Chapter Six: **Never** **Believe Everything You Hear**  
_by ALC Punk! 

"Samantha Carter."

The cold is gone, replaced by vague fuzzy warmth.

She tries to answer, but she's lost the words for what she wants to say.

The voice tries to soothe her, and she's suddenly falling back into a black abyss.

"Hey, Carter." Fingers trail across her cheek.

"Go 'way." She mumbles, determinedly clinging to the warmth and the dark. Where it's safe, where it doesn't hurt, where she doesn't have to face the pain of Fifth's torture, or her memories. Daniel, burnt to a crisp as the days wore on... Smelled like chicken.

Jack catches her as she flails upwards, helping her stand even as she doubles over and retches into the bedding tangled around her feet.

She's dry-heaving almost immediately, and she wonders how long she was unconscious, this time.

The tremors finally subside, and Jack helps her away, handing her a glass of water a second later. She rinses and spits into the mess of cloth and bile, then turns away from it. "What happened?"

"Apparently, they were lookin' for you."

"Fifth."

"Yeah." He runs a hand through her hair, a thumb across her cheek, as if testing that it's really her. That's she's really alive. "Heimdahl and I figured out how to speed up the process, and, well, we found a solution to the bugs and went and saved you."

"I didn't feel guilty."

He blinks.

"Fifth wanted me to feel guilty about betraying him."

"Oh." He flinches, as if understanding that he isn't going to like where this is going, "I'm sorry, Carter, this is -"

"No. I could have pretended not to understand you." Her hands reach for him. He is real and vibrant under them, and she takes comfort in that. "What I meant was, I didn't feel guilty. I still don't. There are... worse things I feel guilty for."

His hands touch her, gently. "Carter."

"Daniel, Teal'c... The children I will never know."

There are still no tears as he pulls her against him. But it's still comfort all the same. "Carter, I wish I could wave a magic wand."

"I know." A swallow. "I love you."

He goes completely still. "That..."

"You don't," she pulls back and brushes a finger across his cheek. "I don't need to hear it. Ever. But I wanted to hear myself say it, because it makes you real."

His lips claim hers, suddenly, and she finds herself being kissed with a dizzying passion. "You're mine." The whisper is fierce against her ear as he holds her tightly. "I'm never letting you go again."

"Good." There are still going to be nightmares.

"Pardon the intrusion." Heimdahl seems almost embarrassed as they turn to look at him. "But we have reached Earth, and I must bid you farewell and return to the fight swiftly."

"Hey." Jack looks at him for a moment. "Kick their asses."

"We will endeavor to, O'Neill. Thank you for your assistance." A small case appears next to them. "This contains all of the knowledge on the Asgard weapon, please use it wisely."

"Sure."

A moment, and then the ship disappears, the SGC briefing room coalescing around them.

Sam shifts, suddenly conscious that she's still wearing the clothing Gairwyn gave her, the BDUs she'd worn all those days ago left behind when they took their walk.

"Think they'd notice if we just walked out?" He asks against her hair.

"Probably." Much as the idea is appealing, she does want to see her father again.

"Damn."

The intercom suddenly switches on. "Intruder alert, intruder alert!"

SFs begin boiling out of nowhere to surround them, and Generals Hammond and Carter appear from the direction of the control room. "What the hell is going on?"

"Well, General," his voice sardonic, Jack continues to hang onto her as he explains, "Mission accomplished. The bugs are being wiped out. And Carter and I would like to go home now."

"And Ba'al is dead." Sam pipes up. She's still inordinately proud of this fact.

"Right. And that bastard who tortured me is dead." Jack looks at her, "I still wish I'd gotten to kill him."

"Expediency, Jack."

"Uh-huh."

"What happened to SG-1?"

"They're dead." Jack replies bluntly. "Ba'al's been waiting for one of us to use the library device since he discovered it. His jaffa only brought Carter and I to him. Probably thought one of us would break if the other was tortured."

"Well, get yourselves down to the infirmary and get checked out."

"I want to go home." Sam says, her tone firm.

"Sam," her father starts.

"No. I have been tortured and poked and prodded! I'm fucking SICK of this shit. Heimdahl cleared us both, and I want to go HOME. Now." If it were dignified, she'd stamp her foot.

"The Asgard? What happened to Thor?"

"Thor's dead."

"A coup."

Hammond looks between the two of them. "I can't believe this. Neither of you are leaving until you've been debriefed and written full reports."

"Fine. We need food and sleep, then." Jack jabs a finger at them. "And a shower and fresh clothing."

Nodding, Hammond gestures, detailing two of the SFs, "Take them down to the locker room. Then one of you dig up BDUs for them. They are not to be allowed around the base without at least one of you with them."

"Sir." There are salutes.

"Gosh, George," Jack mocks, "You don't trust us anymore."

"Son, until I've heard from the President, I'm not even sure what we're going to do next."

"Oh, by the way," pointing at the small casket as she walks, one arm still around Jack, Sam smirks, "Heimdahl sent that for the weapons people to investigate. Try not to blow up the planet."

The locker room is empty when they get there. One of the SFs gestures towards the communal locker which contains various soap and shampoo products, then exits the room.

"I notice he didn't try to separate us."

Jack chuckles as he pulls his shirt off, "Hammond is getting smarter, Carter. Heh. That rhymes."

"Idiot." she says affectionately.

"Yup." He reaches out and slides a hand down her chest. "You know, what with everything that's happened..."

"Hrm?" Her skirt flutters to the floor and she steps away wearing nothing but her combat boots.

Jack is completely silent, his eyes wide, his gaze fixated on her.

"Uh, Jack?"

"Shut up. You'll wake me from my fantasy."

Sam feels her eyebrows raise. "And what fantasy would that be?"

"You, naked, wearing combat boots."

Shaking her head at him, she places her hands on her hips. "Get naked, Jack, there's soap and water at hand."

"Yes, ma'am."

She snorts and turns, then bends down to untie her boots.

A hand drifts across her ass.

"Jack."

"C'mon, you expect me not to touch?"

She glances over her shoulder at him and chuckles, "I -" his hand slides across her, and the desire she hadn't considered is there. Dear GOD is it there. Her breath quickens. "Jack, we're supposed to take a shower."

"We can." His fingers feather across her again, gently stroking, then he moves away. "We'll just take a nice long one."

Damn him.

She strips her boots and socks and grabs the soap and shampoo, heading into the shower area, and selecting a corner so they can use more than one shower head.

He follows not long after, pins her to the wall and kisses her. She finally breaks away to spin the knobs, yelping at the coldness of the water. It quickly warms.

Once in the shower, he maps her body with his hands and lips and tongue, with the water pounding down on them both until she shatters against the wall, his fingers buried inside of her. Then it's his turn and she urges him on, pushing as he thrusts, whimpering when he hits deeply, and kissing him fiercely as his own release spasms through them both.

Afterwards, they're careful as they use soap and water to clean themselves.

There are towels and a new set of clothing for each of them when they return to the locker room. Sam starts at her hair, grimacing at the length that now hangs past her chin. A towel smacks her on the ass, and she turns to glare.

"It was there."

"Uh-huh."

Retaliation leads to tickling and groping and they're both breathless with laughter when one of the SFs sticks his head in and coughs. "Um, sir? Ma'am?"

"What is it?"

"The General is wondering what's taking so long."

"Tell him we're busy."

"Jack."

"Fine, fine." With little grace he lets her go, but not before getting his hands on her ass again.

Sam sighs as she starts dressing. "You're an evil man, Jack O'Neill."

"Yup."

The Generals are eyeing them with disturbance when they return to the briefing room.

"General, General, airmen. Carter." Jack nods at them all, then sits. "So. Shall we?"

Sam claims the chair next to him and shifts it closer.

"Jack, Sam," Hammond sits down and looks at them. "Why don't you start from the beginning?"

"The beginning? Well, Heimdahl beamed us into here, and -"

"From the moment you arrived in Russia, Jack."

"We had a conversation," Sam says, "Then a week passed, and it all seemed okay. Then he wasn't at lunch. When I talked to Dr. Markhov, she claimed he'd left. I knew she was lying."

"Yup. She was. After Carter left that morning, I got jumped by goons with a syringe. Woke up in a chair, and they started beating me up. Don't know why."

"I figured out where they had to be holding him, broke him out, and we escaped by snowmobile. Cross country to the local rail line, then on to a village I knew of." Sam pauses, remembering the cold. "We stopped and bought provisions with the money I had, then took another train to Moscow."

"And then we went to Florida."

Hammond eyes them. "That's not all, but you're not going to tell me, are you."

"If you're asking did we sell any state secrets, sir, the answer would be 'no'." The sarcasm in her voice seems to startle the two Generals. "We might not have wanted to come back here, but we wouldn't jeopardize this planet needlessly, gentlemen."

"Then, you came and found us, sent us on that mission." Jack picks up the storyline, "We got the library downloaded into our heads, SG-1 was killed, we were killed, we were revived, tortured, killed, wash, rinse, repeat, until Carter brained some jaffa and killed Ba'al. Then we blew up his complex and went to Cimmeria to use their Hall of Thor for a chat with the Asgard."

"What do you mean, you both had the library in your heads?"

"Well, Jack didn't want to do it, and it wasn't working, but he didn't wait for me to move, and I guess... I believe it reacted to his presence and when it opened it took both of us with it."

"Continue."

"Apparently, Asa has taken over the Asgard in some sort of coup d'etat. Thor is dead. Asa wouldn't help us, but Carter worked her magic and managed to contact Heimdahl. Seems they'd wanted the knowledge in the library, but couldn't access it without our help. He wanted us to wait until the pathways in our brains resonated with it before removing it, so they could kick the Replicator's asses."

"They have asses, Jack?"

He remembers, too. His smirk makes her smile, "Yeah. At least we didn't blow up anything named after me, this time."

"So, they extracted the information, and were able to construct a weapon." Hammond is trying to keep them on track.

"Yup."

Her hand finds Jack's, and she wonders if the men watching them will realize he left something out.

They don't.

More questions. Hours of questions and answers until she's so tired she could cry. But Carters don't cry. Ever. Finally, they let them go, sending them down to quarters. The bed is barely big enough for one, and Sam realizes the SF is going to lead her off to another room.

"I'm staying here."

"Ma'am -"

"I'm staying here." She cuts him off, her voice firm.

He's a young sergeant, probably hasn't even had to fight anyone yet. He backs off. "I'll - yes, ma'am."

Too tired to do more than sleep, Sam removes her boots and lets Jack climb into bed first. He raises his arm. "C'mere."

Curling against him, she sighs. "You didn't tell them."

"Do they need to know?" His lips brush her hair.

"No."

Sleep takes her down into the depths of blackness.


	7. White Wave

_Cauterized People Chapter Seven: **White Wave**_**  
**by ALC Punk! 

-

White on white. Light spilling everywhere. "Isn't she perfect?"

She doesn't want to turn, doesn't want to see, but she can't move on her own, only he can dictate her limbs. The slow turning makes her skin crawl and she wants to scream. Scream until her throat is ripped to shreds and she chokes on her own blood (let me die).

Blonde hair gleams in the light. She moves and shifts, regarding the naked body she has. "I am perfect."

"Yes, she is."

No. She wants to scream, this is wrong. Wrong wrong wrong.

There is only one Samantha Carter. Not two, not three, not this creature with her smile and eyes that are cruel and cold.

No.

"You aren't me."

"Oh, but I am."

Pain drags her from the images, shattering the white on white until she finds herself sprawled on the floor, cold stone at her back, Jack O'Neill perched next to her. "Carter!"

"She isn't me."

Confusion. She knows this isn't right. Or it is right, and the dream was wrong.

"It's all right. We're safe. He doesn't have you anymore." Jack is pale underneath the remnants of his tan, his eyes dark with worry. "Carter, you're safe."

"He - He made a copy of me, Jack." She struggles to sit up and realizes she's shaking.

"It's okay. The copy is dead. He's dead."

"She knows everything I know."

His hands rub her arms, one drifts up to touch her face. "It's all right, Carter. She's gone. It's gone. The Asgard destroyed that ship."

She leans into the hand, refusing to close her eyes. "How?"

"Hrm?"

"Jack." Her hands catch at him, "How did the Asgard get the knowledge before I did?"

His gaze drops.

"Tell me."

"Y'remember the time dilation machine?"

"Oh. Oh shit." Her hands poke and prod, touching him as if to reassure herself that he's there. "You stupid bastard."

"The Replicators had you, I wasn't going to let them win."

Now, she can close her eyes as she leans forward, head resting on his shoulder. "So you let them speed you up, let mere minutes pass for us while days passed for you. What if their calculations were wrong?"

"They weren't."

"But - Jack, I'm not -"

"Don't even think that, Carter."

"Jack -"

"Sam."

Her first name stops her cold, and she pulls back to look at him. "Don't you ever do that again, you jackass. Or I'll kill you myself."

"Hey," his hands cup her face. "You know me."

"Yeah, I do."

"Carter, the floor is cold, can we go back to bed now?"

"Yeah."

It scares her she decides as they curl back up. He risked being permanently altered, damaged, driven insane. And for her.

She was right. He doesn't have to say it.

-

They have breakfast in the mess hall, surrounded by only a few chattering members of the SGC. Most of them stare once or twice, then ignore the two of them.

Jennifer Hailey bounces up to them towards the end, and Sam greets her carefully.

"I made Captain." There is pride in the young woman's voice.

"Congratulations."

They talk about things, all of them technical, and Sam doesn't realize how long they do it until Hailey starts up, looking guilty. "I've got to run, ma'am."

"Take care, Hailey." Sam calls after her. Then she pins her gaze on Jack, who'd contributed to the discussion. "Cassie was right about you."

"Hrm?" He pokes at his cold pancake.

"You understand more than you let on."

"Maybe."

She snorts and reaches out to swipe his last slice of bacon. "You just liked listening to me talk."

"Maybe." He steals half of it back.

"Ma'am, sir, the Generals are waiting for you."

"Oh, for cryin' out loud," Sam snaps, "Can't we finish our breakfast?"

The SF looks embarrassed, "Sorry, ma'am. They're real insistent."

"C'mon, Carter. Time to pay the piper."

"Should be paying us," she mutters as they exit the mess hall.

They're escorted into the briefing room and directed to chairs that are separated. Without needing to even exchange a look, they ignore both and grab two facing the window that looks out into the gateroom.

"I thought I told you to separate them?" Hammond sounds irritated as he arrives.

"Oh, they tried, George, but I prefer sitting next to Carter. She smells better."

"Very well." Several more people file in and take seats, then Hammond starts, "It appears you weren't entirely honest with us."

"Oh, sorry, George, did I forget to mention my favorite color is blue?"

"You left out something very damn big." The General snaps. He makes a gesture, and the large screen tv begins playback.

Sam recognizes it immediately, sound and picture bringing back the cold terror of the night before. Jack's hand is in hers as she reaches out instinctively.

"This, Jack, is what I'm talking about." A fist slams onto the table, "Samantha Carter was captured and tortured by the Replicator Fifth. Not only that, according to her statements to you, he made a copy of her."

"And? I'm not finding this relevant sir. It's over and done with, and you didn't need to know."

We have enough demons, Sam thinks.

"How do you know that the woman sitting in that chair, holding your hand, is the real Samantha Carter?"

What?

"What? You've gotta be kiddin' me!" Jack's indignant yell starts off a cacophony of sound.

I'm me. She wants to scream at them, to yell at them that she is Sam Carter, that she's alive, flesh and blood. "Cut me."

The furor dies down. "Sam -"

"Cut. Me." She meets their eyes, anger in hers. "If you don't believe I'm really human, then lets find out. Right here. Right now." She doesn't remember standing.

"Carter."

"Give me your knife, Jack."

There is dead silence as she slices down the palm of her hand. The cut is shallow, but the blood drips onto the table with a soft pattering sound. She squeezes her fist, stopping the blood flow, and looks up at them. "Satisfied? Because I am. And this is it. We're finished here. You have our reports, you know everything that went on. There's no fucking reason for us to stay here."

"You can't dictate terms."

"Can't I?" Her voice is as cold as the room in Fifth's ship. "I have sacrificed everything for this planet, this galaxy. And you can kiss my ass if you think I'm going to sacrifice more."

They are out the door and striding towards the elevator before one of the SFs tries to stop them.

"Don't." Jack suggests, his tone mild.

The young man swipes his card through the reader and backs off.

"Thanks."

"You can't just leave!" Hammond's anger reaches them first, her dad is right behind him.

"Sam, you're throwing your life away -"

"Fuck both of you."

"Samantha Carter!"

"Dad!" Her voice is louder than his, her anger far greater, "You just don't get it, do you? I don't CARE what the penalties are. I'm sick of giving and getting nothing but pain in return."

"Carter."

She ignores him, suddenly full of a rage she didn't know she could feel. "You remember that camp, Dad? You remember Jack telling you I'd miscarried? Do you know I did it twice? Twice I murdered my own unborn children, to keep them from the life I was living. And you still think I want anything to do with this place? You're fucking nuts."

The rage leaves as swiftly as it came, and she starts shaking a second later. Jack catches her, pulling her against him.

Hammond and Jacob are staring, pale, their eyes full of something she doesn't want to acknowledge. Horror.

"Sam, I had no idea..."

"Please let us go." The words are a whisper.

"We can't."

Her eyes close and she sags against Jack.

"Remove them to their quarters." Hammond sounds tired as he gives the order.

"Er, sir..."

"Don't bother trying to separate them, son, just take them back there."

Carters don't cry, she thinks fiercely as she follows Jack, his hand towing her like so much flotsam.

Jack puts them to bed, still as silent as he was in the corridor, letting her fight her own battle - external and internal. Finally, she sighs. "Well, that was pointless."

"Yep." His grip tightens. "Go to sleep, Mrs. O'Neill."

She blinks, "I don't remember a ceremony."

"What? Daniel never told you?" He kisses her neck and settles down. "We've been married since I bought you with my Beretta."

"You ass."

"Yours."

"Mhmm. Mine." Relaxing, she closes her eyes. "Mr. Carter."

-


	8. Rage Subsided

_Cauterized People Chapter Eight: **Rage Subsided**_**  
**by ALC Punk! 

There's no nightmare, this time. She just wakes, knowing something is wrong. Jack is silent behind her.

"What is it?"

"The SFs left about ten minutes ago."

"What?"

He shifts, "I don't know why. They just disappeared. There was radio traffic, but I couldn't hear it."

"Oh."

"Something's wrong."

Great. Well, at least they were agreed. She glances at the camera in the corner. "Security room."

"Level 23."

Four floors up. "There's a stairwell somewhere in the next hallway."

"Convenient."

They climb out of bed and stand by the door, both still wearing their boots. Sam doesn't remember why they didn't take them off, but is glad they don't have to mess with them.

"Corridor's clear."

Without need for more speech, they make their way out into the hall and down to the stairwell. Jack casually swipes a card through it, and it pops open. She raises an eyebrow, but doesn't comment. The flights pass quickly, although she wishes she had eaten lunch.

There is a strange sense of emptiness as they step out onto level 23. And they move even more carefully, stopping at the small arms locker for essential weapons.

Zat in hand, Sam knocks on the door to the security room. A muffled voice calls that it's open. "It's locked!"

Shuffling.

Sam zats the poor Lieutenant before the door is fully opened, then moves inwards, catching her. "Sorry about that."

"She can sue you when she wakes."

"Yeah." After locking the door, she moves to stand next to Jack. "What've we got?"

"Don't know yet."

It takes a few minutes before they come across anyone. The holding cells on level 19 contain a large contingent of SGC staff. Sam eyes them.

"Hammond's missing."

A check of the camera outside his office shows him sitting inside, his hands tied in front of him.

"Damn."

She sighs. "I'll find a sarcophagus and raise you from the dead just to kick your ass if you do anything stupid."

"I know."

There's no need to plan, she thinks as they stop at the door and share a passionate kiss, as if branding each other. She'll go release the SGC people. He'll try to get to Hammond.

No luck wishing, either.

She encounters no one as she takes the stairs to level 19. While it bothers her, she's thankful for it. Two zats wouldn't save her from a battalion of jaffa. These corridors are also empty, and the hairs on the back of her neck raise. She's used to bustling people going about their business. Not this odd silence.

There are no guards on the door, and she becomes suspicious.

But there's nothing and no one to see, so she moves and begins picking the lock.

"Major Carter!"

Someone apparently spotted her inside the room.

"Didn't you hear? I'm AWOL. And I got a demotion to Captain."

The lock clicks open at the same time that something touches her back. "Don't. Move."

Shit.

"Move away from the door and turn around. Very slowly."

Complying, Sam finds herself facing a slightly shaggy-looking, bearded man. He's cradling a

90 with confidence. "Ah, I see, you heard we had the best barbers around. Came for a bit of a shave, stayed for the hijacking?"

"Well, well, well," he smirks, "If it isn't Major Samantha Carter."

"You missed my correction, obviously. It's Captain now."

"As beautiful as ever," he runs his eyes up and down. "A little shaggy yourself there, Captain."

"I'm sorry, did I miss the introductions part of the evening?" She steps closer, slowly.

"You don't remember me? I'm hurt. Aden Corso. And you can stop right there. Come any closer and I'll shoot you in the leg."

"Oh, right. The escaped prisoner. Boy, this seems to be a theme for you. What's the matter, Aden, did you get tired of being Bruno's girlfriend in the big house?" Damn, she thinks, Jack has rubbed off on her way too much.

"Shut up." He moves, striking out at her. Quickly, precisely.

Not quick enough, since she was waiting for it. Her hands catch and hold, and she moves, spinning him into the wall and smashing her fist into the back of his neck. He goes down, choking as she drops with him, her knee finding the small of his back. "No," her tone is pleasant, "I don't think I will."

She has his weapon a moment later, and uses the butt to knock him unconscious.

Moments later, the people in the cell begin to file out. "Sam!"

"Hey, Dad." She looks up from rifling Corso's pockets. "What the hell happened?"

"I'm not entirely sure." He admits.

"Fine. Help me tie this asshole up and then we can go rescue Jack and the General."

Corso is still unconscious when they relock the cell, his hands and feet securely tied with belts, his mouth stuffed with someone's t-shirt. Sam studies the twenty or so people in the hall, then frowns, "Where's the rest of the SGC staff?"

"It's Christmas."

She blinks. "Oh. So, everyone's off. Well, at least I know how three people took over a top secret military base."

"Eight, actually."

This is getting ridiculous, but she whirls, the

90 confiscated from Corso fitting neatly to her shoulder as she stares down the barrel at the man who spoke.

Ex-Colonel Robert Makepeace is holding a gun to Jack's head. "Put the gun down, Major, and I might let Jack live."

"Might?" Her tone is almost mild.

"I'll just maim him a little." The gun shifts slightly, pointing down towards his mid-section. "Maybe bruise the family jewels a little. You didn't want kids, did you?"

Hysterical laughter pushes at her, but she ignores it, "Maybe."

"C'mon, Carter. You can't win. And if I pull this trigger, Jack bleeds out before your eyes. You don't want to risk that, do you?" And he gestures at her with the gun.

"No." Her finger squeezes the trigger. "I don't."

Makepeace falls backwards, his body slack, the gun clattering to the floor, a perfect hole in his head between the eyes.

"Nice shootin', Tex." Jack drawls.

"I told you not to get caught."

"No," he corrects, waggling a finger at her, "You told me not to die."

"Same difference."

"Nuh-uh," He pulls her into his arms and kisses her. "Completely different."

"Bastard."

"Sam?" Her father touches her arm, "What about the rest?"

"Well, George is still all tied up with nowhere to go. And if Makepeace had eight people, there are still three running around, somewhere." Jack catches sight of the two SFs that had been guarding their quarters. "Er, Johnson and Smith, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good work."

The two look confused. "Sir?"

"In not telling them about Carter and I being there."

"Oh. Right, sir. It, well, they never asked." The taller replies, a slight smirk on his lips.

"We need to get armed, where's the nearest weapons locker?"

"Three corridors over and two levels down."

"Fine, you and -"

Jack shakes his head, "Look, Carter and I'll go get George." He tosses a zat to Jacob. "The rest of you get weapons and start sweeping the base. And someone needs to go take care of that poor girl we zatted in security."

"You're not going alone."

"Fine." Jack points, "You, you, and you, come with us."

The trip to the General's office is swift, and they find him as alone as he was before. And looking irritated.

"George! Look, don't get up on our account, but -"

Sam smacks Jack. "Be quiet, you."

One of the SFs who came with them quickly unties the General, apologizing for the delay.

"It's okay, son, I understand."

Jack hands the gun he took from Makepeace over to one of the SFs, "There. Go hunt up the other three."

"Yes, sir!"

While the three file out, Jack leads her over to a corner of the briefing room. It's slightly shadowed, and they both sit down with a sigh. Sam leans against him, still cradling the

90. "Well, that was..."

"Yeah."

They sit in silence, listening as the SGC starts searching around them, eventually, they overhear Hammond on the phone. Apparently to the President, as he's relaying the all-clear (the other three were found easily enough). Neither of them really pay attention until he mentions their names.

"Mr. President, I think - Yes, I know sir. Well, sir, they could easily have escaped instead of helping. I doubt Makepeace and his friends would have even stopped them. Hell, sir, they didn't stop them from saving our necks. Yes, sir, SG-1."

More silence, then, "I think we owe them, sir... Yes, sir. I'll get that started immediately. Goodbye, sir."

Silence again, then footsteps. "I suppose you heard that."

"Sort of." Jack replies.

Hammond sighs, "The President has authorized me to inform you that you're free to go."

"Full pardons and everything?" The sarcasm is slightly lacking, but Sam figures he's tired.

"You were never up on charges, Jack."

"Ah."

The General sighs, "Just... stay in touch, please? Don't forget that we happen to care a hell of a lot about you, too."

"Well, thanks."

"Jack -"

"What do you want us to say, George? 'Thanks for making our lives hell'?"

"Jack." Her hand touches his arm, "Shut up."

"It's all right, Sam."

"No, it's not." She stands and reaches out, her arms wrapping around the General. It's a strangely vulnerable moment.

He hugs her back gently. "There'll be a car to take you where you want to go. And plane tickets."

"Florida." Jack holds out his hand, face grim.

Hammond shakes it, "I'll get it set up." He steps back. "Now get the hell off my base, you two."

"Yes, sir."

-

The sun is shining brightly on a beach in southeast Florida. Currently, the tide is out, the shells left behind rubbed smooth by the wear of the sea.

"Mark called."

Sam looks up from making a sand castle that looks suspiciously like a goa'uld deathglider, and shrugs at her father. "Did he?"

"Yeah." Jacob shifts and blinks at the alien spaceship taking mathematical shape in sand. "He sounds disturbed about the whole retirement thing. And Florida. Apparently, his wife has an aversion."

"Guess we'll have to go west, then, Carter."

She snorts and thumps a fist through her half-finished sand ship. "You just want to go to Disneyland."

"And that's bad?" Jack eyes her, suddenly distracted by the black bikini she's wearing.

"I suppose not." She shifts to kneel and then looks at him, a flush touching her skin. "Stop that."

"What?" He has his sunglasses on, and looks completely innocent.

"Jack."

The warning tone is enough and he flops back onto his beach chair and sighs. "Besides, I really just wanna go fishing."

"You two are a real riot, you know?" Jacob shakes his head. "Selmak and I are going to go take a nap."

"Have fun, Dad."

When he's gone, Jack glances at her again. "Why don't you wanna go?"

A shadow crosses over her face and she runs her hand through the sand, "I just... They're so normal, Jack. I don't think I can do normal anymore."

"Carter, you could never do normal. In a million years."

She snorts, "That's really comforting."

"I wouldn't want you normal."

"2.3 kids, white picket fence, a dog, a cat, a mortgage, and an SUV? Are you sure, Jack?"

"Ugh. Completely. Now come here so I can convince you properly."

She raises an eyebrow as she crawls towards him. "Convince me? And what's this going to entail?"

"I was thinking sex."

That stops her.

"Carter?"

"I also don't want to go because I don't think I could have sex in my brother's house."

"Oh, is that all." He moves, coming off the lounge chair and tackling her into the sand. "Well, we'll just have to get a hotel, then."

"Mickey won't wait, huh?"

"Nope." He kisses her. "Neither will Minnie."

-f-


End file.
